What The Fire Spares
by TallBlackBoots
Summary: She'd seen him search her eyes for... for what, she didn't know. Right then, she had nothing for him but the words 'Come on, Peter will take care of it' as if Peter made the world go round and would command it to give back to Neal what he could never have again.


**What The Fire Spares**

* * *

Peter Burke is a man who is good at a lot of things. He is an excellent agent, he wouldn't have that high a clearance rate without being intelligent (yes, even before the appearance of one Neal Caffrey). He is an average actor, one skill that has come in handy in undercover operations. He has a pretty good knowledge of Art History(not that it has been necessary to use it since his consultant is a walking talking encyclopaedia on any topic that is remotely artistic or historic, and some that aren't, compared to the agent's abridgement). He has an extensive knowledge of horses, and has in the past year learnt a little on how to deal with children and women when they start crying.

This being said, he still does not have any idea how to deal with his heart-broken consultant. You see the thing is, Neal Caffrey is so good at putting up a convincing facade (no matter how upset he has been throughout their first year of partnership) that Peter has never had to see this side of his. He has dealt with an over-enthusiastic Neal, a charming Neal, a downright crazy Neal and even a drugged Neal. But never has he seen this side of the kid. Hell, if it hadn't been for this plane explosion, he never would have.

And speaking of which, Peter Burke can only look towards the sky and thank whatever higher power there is, that kept him from letting Neal walk to that plane. Neal is a smart kid (and everyone knows how much Peter likes smart), has a good heart (if the Howser Clinic Incident, as Peter has come to call it, is any indication) albeit slightly clouded judgment (again, Howser Clinic Incident). He's impulsive, he's brazen and sometimes his reckless actions have Peter thinking how this person can be a criminal mastermind.

No matter how much he denies it, and will deny it in the coming days, should anyone call him on it, he genuinely _likes_ Neal. And he doesn't think he could have endured the sight of him turning to ash and then nothing.

The image of the plane blowing up, the memory of the heat on his skin and dust in his eyes and of the desperate con-artist thrashing to rush to his own death won't leave him alone. His mouth forming soundless words of _no _and _Kate _as the world continued to burn around them. No reasons given by Peter that _Neal, she's gone _and _Neal, no _and _Neal, stay down _will stop him from struggling with his full might.

That was at around noon. It's almost six in the evening now, and yet Peter Burke deduction extraordinaire cannot make any sense of it. But at least Neal's safe for the moment. He had El come and pick him up once he'd called the fire brigade, the paramedics and the Bureau. Protocol dictated that under any circumstance in which the criminal informant appears to be making a getaway, should he be locked up immediately until inquiry into the matter is complete. But he's already broken enough rules for the kid, eh... what the hell.

* * *

By the time he reaches home he's hungry, tired and is ready to drop dead on his feet. The day was hectic, even by White Collar Hectic Day standards. Peter has already given an account to Hughes, a written account to the Department of Justice. He opens the door and enters as quietly as he can, as if Neal has supersonic hearing.

Elizabeth is sitting on the couch with _Escape from Freedom_ in her hands and staring off into blank space.

Elizabeth Burke had seen the aftermath of the explosion, if not the triggering impulse itself. She'd seen the usually charming young man answer the paramedics dazedly that _he was not hurt anywhere_ and _yes, he was sure_. She'd seen him quietly answer Reese's questions that _no, he did not rig the plane to explode _and _no, he did not know who did _and that _yes, he would tell them if he knew._ She'd seen him search her eyes for... for what, she didn't know. Right then, she had nothing for him but the words _Come on, Peter will take care it_ as if Peter made the world go round and would command it to give back to Neal what he could never have again. And she takes his arm and gently guides him to the car, all yielding limbs and eyes.

While they are crossing the bridge, Love is a Many Splendored Thing starts playing on the radio.

_Once on a high and windy hill_

_In the morning mist_

_Two lovers kissed _

_And the world stood still_

Elizabeth hastily turns off the radio. She doesn't think she imagined those tears that are threatening to erupt from his eyes. She looks away, because she's never been one to intrude. She knows how much he loves Kate.

The rest of the car ride home was silent.

She looks at Peter startled when she hears him approach.

"Hey hon", he says before he lightly pecks her cheek and drops on the couch beside her.

"Hey hon. Any news on the incident?"

Peter lets his head loll back on the backrest of the couch and lets out a frustrated sigh.

"Nothing. They don't have anything yet. There was too much damage at the hangar, they're still cleaning it up. All they know is that the explosive was C-4."

_Too much damage_ he repeats in his head. He closes his eyes.

"How is he?" he finally asks.

"Well, I fed him dinner and then got him into the bed in the spare guestroom. If he's listened to even a word I've said, he should be asleep."

"You sound like he's five years old", Peter says, rubbing his eyes with the base of his palm.

A small chuckle escapes his wife's lips.

"Well, the way he kept refusing to eat and sleep, you'd almost think he was."

The affection in her voice is clear.

"I'm gonna go check on him."

Peter pushes himself off the couch and makes his way to the stairs and starts climbing, his knees protesting against him.

He opens the door as quietly as he can, not wanting to wake Neal if he's asleep. He needn't have done that, Neal's obviously awake, sitting under the multiple blankets El has piled on him and scratching Satchmo behind the ears. Maybe it's because Peter has had a really really long day, but to him the expression on Satchmo looks almost as anguished as Neal's.

"They find anything?" Neal's voice, when it does come, sounds as if someone's choking him.

Well, for one, Peter's appetite just died.

"No. Nothing yet. They know the explosive used was C-4 and that's it."

Neal nods and looks away as if it was to be expected. Searching and finding Kate was a challenge, why should finding her killer be any less.

Peter can't imagine how he feels, rather he doesn't want to imagine but the image of El on that plane, instead of Kate, surfaces in his exhaustion addled mind anyway; he pushes it to the back of his mind. Maybe that's what makes him say :

"Neal, we will find whoever did this. Neal look at me", the desperation is evident in his eyes, because Neal still hasn't looked at him. He continues when he's sure he has Neal's attention.

"We will find whoever did this. We will make sure he pays for this."

He holds his gaze.

Maybe because El was right or Neal really does look like drugged-Neal, he lightly pats him on the head and ruffles his hair.

"Now sleep, okay?"

Neal nods and lies down, and Peter pulls the blankets around him, feeling a feeling very close to parentlike. Satchmo lies down on the blankets next to the bed's occupant, nuzzling his face in his hand.

Peter leaves the door slightly ajar on his way out, so there is a ray of light streaming in the room.

He hears El ask from downstairs, near the stairs.

"Hon, come on down. What do you want for dinner?"

"That's okay El", he says loosening his tie and getting rid of his jacket, "Not hungry."

* * *

Peter gets up at the ungodly hour of four o'clock in the morning to a parched throat. Maybe because he's trained to notice the smallest of details, he notices that the guest bedroom door slightly more open than he left it.

Sure enough, everything in the room is the same as he left it. Except for its former occupant who is nowhere to be seen. But Peter is a smart man, he checks the bathroom, the kitchen and the rest of the house (including the garage) before he lets himself panic.

Of course, now that he's sure Neal's not in the house, he's allowed to be flustered.

"Neal, what have you done ?" he hears himself say, for what seems to the hundredth time that year.

He pens a quick note to El saying _Going to look for Neal_ sticks it on the fridge with a magnet, puts on his sweater and jacket and grabs an extra jacket and blanket just for good measure before he bolts out the door.

It frightens him a little that he now knows Neal Caffrey so well that he doesn't even have to think where he'll be, that he just knows the answer.

* * *

He's right.

Neal is at the hangar when he reaches there, sitting cross-legged at approximately where they'd been standing the day before. Without a sweater or jacket. In the cold.

It doesn't surprise Peter, high security safes and supermax prisons have never been able to keep him out and keep him in respectively, what chance does a measly yellow coloured Crime Scene tape stand?

He stops the car, grabs the jacket and blanket he had good sense to bring along and gets out.

And Neal, Neal doesn't even have to turn and look behind him to know who it is. Because anyone else who would've noticed his absence at the Burke household, was probably putting up road blocks and wanted posters.

"Guess it is 3-0 now?"

"Oh, don't flatter yourself. I like a fair win", Peter replies, coming to a stop behind Neal.

He takes time to drape the jacket and blanket around his consultant's shoulders, before he sits down on the ground, cross-legged, next to him.

Neither of them moves for a long time, so that it looks like a painting of two men looking at an airplane wreck in the early morning, only their silhouettes visible in the first rays of the dawn.

Peter Burke doesn't know how to break the silence. Neal does.

"You know Mozzie once wrote.

_The fire came and went_

_Took everything away_

_The bruises never heal. "_

"Mozzie writes poetry?"

"Oh, you don't know. He had this phase a few years back where he would only converse in rhyme."

Peter nods, he really doesn't know how to reply to Neal's unasked question.

A few minutes pass before he says," Well, I wouldn't say everything."

Neal doesn't say anything so he continues.

"You still have people who care about you. You've still got El and June and Mozzie and me. So, not...everything."

"It's just not fair Peter", he says, his voice slightly breaking. "I was so close. So close to having her. It's not fair."

And doesn't he think Peter already knows that? That Neal, however bad things he may have done, didn't deserve this; didn't deserve to see his entire world succumb to flames right before his eyes.

No, Peter knows that. But it isn't like he can do anything about it. He doesn't wield that kind of power. No one does.

"I know, Neal."

Because sometimes there is nothing you can say or do that will make anything better. You have to do your best to put on your game face and let time heal the rest.

And maybe, if you have a friend you can trust, someone you can lean on when your feet give up on you, you can find your way back.

Which is why, even though Peter is beginning to get cold, his legs ache and his head's starting to swim a little, he will sit in the cold with the younger man for however long it takes, just to let him know he's not alone.

That there are things in life fire can't take away.

* * *

**This is my first shot at writing White Collar.**

**Reviews are much appreciated!**


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